


Muted Blue

by MakaylaJade



Series: Hidden Angels [1]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Wings, Human Trafficking, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Recovery, Science Fiction, Slavery, Winged Spencer Reid, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:35:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27259543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MakaylaJade/pseuds/MakaylaJade
Summary: Homo ave sapiens was the term, wise man birds, a species on the cusp of endangerment due to trafficking on the black market. Meeting one wasn’t all that uncommon, and in truth, the only difference between humans and home ave sapiens (or avians, as they often preferred), were the feathered appendages growing from their backs.“Hey there… I’m going to get you out of here,” Morgan said in a hushed voice, crouching down in front of the figure. Those elegant wings lowered to reveal a mop of chestnut curls and a pale face, and Morgan swore he never saw anything more beautiful. Hazel eyes peered up at him fearfully, glowing in the darkness, and had he not known any better, he would think he were in the presence of an angel.Alternative Universe - Wings
Relationships: Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid, Spencer Reid & The BAU Team
Series: Hidden Angels [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2021449
Comments: 32
Kudos: 185





	1. Angel

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I was not very proud of this because it was mainly just a drabble, but I have received several requests to keep this going, so I took the time to revise/rewrite the first chapter to pave the way for all that is to come!
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

__

_"Hope” is the thing with feathers -   
_ _That perches in the soul -  
_ _And sings the tune without the words -  
_ _And never stops - at all -_

 _And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -  
_ _And sore must be the storm -  
_ _That could abash the little Bird  
_ _That kept so many warm -_

 _I’ve heard it in the chillest land -  
_ _And on the strangest Sea -  
_ _Yet - never - in Extremity,_  
 _It asked a crumb - of me._

-Emily Dickinson

* * *

The elevator doors dinged upon the arrival to his destined floor, and with a certain heaviness in his step only sleepiness could cause, Derek Morgan stepped off and headed to the roundtable room. To be called in at such an hour could only mean one thing: Something important was going on and needed their immediate attention. He only wondered why this couldn’t have waited until a more reasonable hour, but clearly, criminals didn’t care about his sleep schedule. The bullpen was completely empty, and it was still dim from the night, but even through the blinds, he could see that the lights were on in the roundtable room. Begrudgingly, he entered, and saw that everyone was already inside and settled, all except Hotch and JJ who had yet to emerge from his office where they were most likely discussing the case at hand. This had to be a bad one.

“Alright everyone, please take a seat,” Hotch said just as Morgan was sitting himself down between Prentiss and Garcia, both of whom held a grim expression on their faces - Garcia’s of course more noticeable than the ever compartmentalizing Emily Prentiss. JJ obviously wasn’t going to be presenting this case, because as soon as she passed out the case files, she was sitting next to Rossi who was already examining the files with extreme interest yet with surprise, almost disbelief lingering on his wrinkled face. Morgan instantly understood why.

“Tonight, we were notified that Andi Swann’s unit has located a branch of a… _human_ trafficking ring operating just outside of Las Vegas,” Hotch began, putting emphasis on the word ‘human’ for unknown reasons. With a click of the remote, the monitor turned on to reveal a few of the rescued victims, and immediately the team noticed that they were not human as Hotch had previously stated. Homo ave sapiens was the term, _wise man birds_ , a human-related species on the cusp of endangerment due to trafficking on the black market. Meeting one wasn’t all that uncommon, and in truth, the only difference between humans and home ave sapiens (or avians, as they often preferred), were the feathered appendages growing from their backs. They behaved just as humans behaved, talked like them, lived like them… Yet they were discriminated against and faced many complications, residing alongside humanity.

They demanded for equal riots, and Morgan vividly remembered the Avian Riots of 1999, when he was still a novice in the FBI. Avians marched and protested across D.C., and after several isolated incidents of looting and pillaging, the national guard fired into crowds as if it were open season. In total, over eighty avians were killed that day, and from then on, the government took special interest in protecting avian rights. But it was clear that they weren’t doing _enough_ , with incidents like this and the continued maltreatment of avians and discrimination against them.

“Oh, my god…” Garcia breathed, her eyes impossibly wide as her hand shot out to find stability on Morgan’s forearm, and he too was as surprised as she was. The rescued victims were severely malnourished, practically just skin and bones, and their wings were very crudely clipped and mangled from years of neglect and obvious abuse. Unlike humans, however, feathers danced across their chests and along their shoulders and backs, the plumage sprinkling downwards to the sprout of their wings. The only male had feathers freckling his cheeks. It was clear they once had been so beautiful, but now, these poor creatures were far from pleasant to look at. Despite himself, Morgan felt a discomfort building in his stomach, his throat clenching. It would forever baffle him to know that people thought it was alright to treat _any_ creature like this.

“From left to right, we have Liam Donaldson, twenty-three, Jamie Frost, twenty-four, and Renee Grayson, also twenty-four,” JJ jumped in, “All have been claimed by their families and we’ve been asked for help in interviewing the victims and their families.”

“Agent Swann has reason to believe that this group is still holding more avians, though exact numbers are unknown. They bounce back and forth between several major locations, and we have been asked to assist in the raids at all three locations,” Hotch continued, clicking onto the next screen where surveillance pictures showed hooded figures congregating outside of a large van, and it was clear that these were their suspects. A mugshot of a man popped up on the screen next.

“This is Jonathon Martin, and he is in charge of this specific operation. We have yet to identify anyone else affiliated with this branch. Garcia, I want you with us for this, so grab a go-bag. Wheels up in twenty.” With that, the team rose from where they sat and dispersed to get ready for travel. Garcia looked worriedly to Morgan, and all he could do was offer a small smile in her direction, his arm wrapping around her shoulders.

“Promise me we’ll get them out of there, Derek,” Garcia said in an oddly somber tone. Morgan just sighed and squeezed her shoulder as they followed suit, walking out of the room.

“We’ll get ‘em, baby. Don’t worry your pretty little head.” Although, he only hoped that he could fulfill that promise, for the sake of Garcia and those innocent people.

Upon arriving in Las Vegas five hours later, they were greeted by the one and only Andi Swann, and despite the circumstances she kept a small smile on her face, remembering each and every member of Aaron’s team from previous encounters. She met them at the airstrip, shaking their hands and clearly pleased to have the best team possible helping with such a key operation — a breakthrough in one of their largest avian trafficking rings.

“Once we get to the precinct, we can use the information we have gathered so far to plan our infiltration,” Swann said as they piled into the SUVs made available for them, and soon, they were on their way. The precinct was just as any other; alpha males all around, a conference room made available with three boards filled with information, including that which pertained to their suspected leader and the few victims that had been saved. A map was pinned up on one, with three separate locations circled, all within a twenty mile radius of one another. In one of the interview rooms, a pretty robin was perched in a chair, her legs bouncing nervously while she looked around constantly, clearly paranoid. Avians were often distrusting of authority figures after the riots, and it was clear that this one was no different.

“We’ve brought in Macy Donaldson, Liam Donaldson’s sister. Apparently, she hasn’t seen her brother in over two years, and we wanted your help in preparing her to see him again,” Swann continued on, and Hotch nodded, glancing in Prentiss's direction who instantly nodded and separated from the group to talk to the robin. Morgan crossed his arms over his chest, approaching one of the boards and looking over pictures of the victims, their before and after pictures a true vision of despair. They all had been incredibly beautiful before their disappearances, and now that they were found, they looked like they had been treated as livestock. He had met avians over his lifetime, never really anything more than a brief interaction here or there because of his work as a police officer and eventually an agent.

“We’ve been tracking their movements for the past three months. We want to infiltrate tonight, before they change locations again,” Swann informed, and Hotch seemed a bit taken aback by this revelation. But, if it was possible to save these poor people before they were sold off, then they had no choice but to intervene. Morgan let his eyes linger over another victim, Victoria Pruest, and he felt his heart break at the sight of her mangled wings. How terrible it was, to be given wings yet have the glory of flying stripped away.

“Then we infiltrate tonight,” Morgan said quietly, turning to look at Swann and Hotch with a sharpened look in his dark eyes, “to keep these people from suffering any longer.”

* * *

The night came sooner than expected. Outside of a seemingly abandoned factory, the team grouped with SWAT, instructing them of their tactics and strategy. A soft entry was best, since they didn’t want to risk the lives of any avians or have them caught in the crossfire. They were already weakened as it was, so most of them probably wouldn’t survive any harm that came their way. With Morgan taking point, SWAT and the rest of the BAU followed behind and split into three different groups to cover the dark facility. Flashlight beams flickered across the walls, and soon, gunfire was exchanged between them and the workers of the trafficking ring. The ringleader was nowhere to be found, and they soon realized that he must have evaded as soon as he heard the gunfire. They continued to comb the facility for the remaining avians, despite the fact that he had gotten away, because lives still needed to be saved.

“Guys, in here!” Prentiss called for them, and immediately they followed her into a cramped corridor, a total of four cells with bars from floor to ceiling on either side. A chorus of gasps greeted their entry, avian eyes shining through the darkness as wings fluttered and hands grasped at cold bars. After all, it was the middle of January, and most of these poor people had less than scraps on their bodies if not completely naked. A key from the office-like room was passed into them and the cell doors were opened up. Three of the four cells had two or three avians inside, and JJ, Prentiss, and Rossi handled those. But the cell that Morgan was left with only had one individual inside. The avian was balled up in the corner with mangled, owlish wings curling around themselves protectively. The sound of their rapid breathing was somewhat concerning, yet also relieving since it reminded Morgan that they were thankfully _alive_.

As Morgan slowly approached, he was careful to take light steps, but his approach was enough to elicit a gasp from the avian. He stopped in his place, lowering himself down to a crouch so as to avoid intimidating the abused creature, and he slid his gun back to its rightful place in the holster on his hip.

“Hey there… I’m going to get you out of here,” Morgan said in a hushed voice, wanting to reach forward and touch the avian but he resisted since that could come with dire consequences. Those elegant wings lowered at the sound of his voice to reveal a mop of chestnut curls and a thin, pale face, and Morgan swore he never saw anything more beautiful. Hazel eyes peered up at him fearfully, glowing in the darkness, and had he not known any better, he would think he were in the presence of an angel. Pale feathers sprouted across his cheeks up into his hairline, and along his bare chest and over his shoulders, down to the curve of his neglected wings.

“That’s it, Pretty Boy… I’m here to help,” Derek continued on as those wings slowly lowered further, and as soon as he realized that the boy was naked, he pulled off his FBI jacket and draped it over the boy’s front. The avian instantly clutched to it with shaking hands, his slender fingers burying themselves in the warm fabric.

“I can go home?…” the boy whispered his question, his eyes watering like fountains as tears fell down his face. His hands trembled horribly, lips parting as he searched for more to say, and as much as Derek wanted to just hold him in his arms and never let him go, he resisted the urge to touch him still and continued on as if he were any other victim. But despite himself, Morgan knew this boy was different, and the way his heart throbbed in his chest was a reminder of that fact.

“My name is Derek, and I’m with the FBI,” Morgan gently said to him, “What’s your name?”

“M-My name?… Sp-Spencer. Spencer Reid,” the avian said in response, sitting up slowly on his knees. Morgan realized this boy probably hadn’t been called by his name in years, and again, his chest seemed to tighten up.

“Can you stand on your own, Spencer?”

“I-I don’t… I don’t know. I can try,” Spencer mumbled weakly, and while one hand kept the jacket clutched to his body, he slowly rose to wobbly knees. He only lasted a few seconds, and as he began to crumble, Derek gathered him in his arms. Hoisting him up carefully against his chest, one arm under his long legs while the other held him up under his upper torso, just below his wings. Spencer looked up at him with such wonder in his eyes, the tear tracks still evident on his dirtied face. Even covered in dirt and grime, he still looked like the image of perfection, an angel fit only for the prettiest of skies.

Morgan needed to get his head out of the clouds and focus.

He carried him out of that wretched cell, and swore to himself that he would never let Spencer wind up like that again. The boy seemed breathless from the sudden movements, and an expression of such trust lingered on his face. One hand remained over the FBI jacket, and the other clutched to the front of Derek’s long sleeve shirt. As he was brought out of the facility and into the open air, a soft whimper passed the boy’s cracked lips.

Derek looked down, alarmed and worried he had inadvertently hurt him, but the moment he saw tears trekking down his feathered cheeks once more, he realized why. Spencer’s eyes were caught on the starry night sky above, the moon reflecting in his dark pupils. It had probably been years since the boy saw the living world, and he was filled with such an immense amount of grief for the life Spencer had lost. He had experienced such a tragedy, and although he didn’t know for sure how long Spencer had been enmeshed in the trafficking ring, he knew that he would never be the same person he was before all of this. But then again could anybody, regardless of species?

EMTs began to gather the avians by having them lay on gurneys and pushed into the backs of ambulances, and Derek looked down as Spencer became more aware of the situation. Spencer looked scared, and his eyes fell from the sky to instead focus on the couple of people approaching them with a gurney rolling along between them.

“Derek?...” He whispered in confusion as he was laid down on it, his hands continuing to clutch to that jacket, his knuckles white from his death grip. His breathing was erratic again, and Derek felt himself crumble just a little bit on the inside. Spencer had already imprinted himself onto Morgan and viewed him as a savior — how good of a person would he be to leave the avian all alone as he had been before?

“These people are going to bring you to a hospital where they can help you, Spencer,” Derek said as if that would make him feel better, but Spencer was clearly having none of that. He was abused, not stupid, and Derek needed to remember that in the future. Spencer desperately shook his head, while a flutter of protests erupted from him in the form of sobs as the EMTs began to roll the gurney back towards an ambulance An EMT attempted to slip a blood pressure cuff around his arm on the way, but Spencer shrieked as if in pain and jerked away violently. His wings fluttered, the sheets ruffling up under him, and it pained Morgan to see this poor creature acting on pure instinct alone, as if his wings could really carry him in their decrepit state.

“No, Derek, please _don’t leave me_ …!” He cried out in a shrill voice that pierced through Morgan’s very being, reaching a hand out towards the other man. Derek was by his side in an instant, his hands grasping onto Spencer’s smaller, bonier one. The EMTs stopped just outside of the ambulance, hoping that Morgan could get the poor boy to calm down.

“Calm down, Pretty Boy, I’ll be right here, okay?” He cooed softly, and Spencer whimpered once more, a coo of his own humming in his throat. Avians weren’t necessarily animalistic in nature, but like humans, they had noises they used to soothe themselves or each other. Like whispering or humming, avians had chirping, singing, cooing. It was all instinctual, really. An avian mother would coo to her baby, or avians would greet each other with happy chirps in the mornings, just as humans would do. Derek only wished he could understand more of how Spencer was feeling, to help him get through this smoothly.

“Don’t leave me,” Spencer repeated firmly, and Derek hated how tears seemed to be a constant presence on his face. He reached a hand up, his thumb gently swiping under his eye, being careful of the feathers tracing over his high cheekbones.

“I won’t,” Morgan said instantly. He rode in the back of the ambulance due to Spencer’s insistence, but when the EMTs began to administer tests and take his vitals, Spencer was clearly uncomfortable. However, it wasn’t until they attempted to draw blood that Spencer began to freak out and panic. His limbs flailed and his wings flapped wildly, his hand even striking an EMT across the face. When it was apparent that not even Derek was going to calm him down from this, they sedated him, and soon enough, he was fast asleep. Derek looked at the creature with such pity, his chest tight. He didn’t know who Spencer had been before this, but he could only hope that he could grow past this horrific experience.

At the hospital, Derek eventually met up with the rest of his team where they gathered in the waiting room. All of the rescued avians were eventually identified, either of their own doing or through Garcia’s research. Loved ones were contacted and several were quick to arrive while others had to travel to get there. But when he realized that Spencer had no one capable of seeing him, Morgan soon returned to Spencer’s room, wanting to be there when the young man woke up so that he wasn’t alone anymore. He felt such a desire to keep the other safe from danger, to protect him from all harm with ever fiber of his being.

“Tell me about Spencer, Mama,” Morgan said into the phone from where he sat next to Spencer’s hospital bed, his foot tapping on the ground as he leaned forward over his legs, his elbows perched on his knees. Garcia hummed idly to let him know she heard him, and after a bit of rapid typing, she responded.

“Doctor Spencer Reid, a twenty-one year old barn owl avian and Las Vegas native. He was reported missing by his coworkers at Caltech where he worked as a teacher’s assistant… Wow, he is one smart cookie. He has PhDs in math, chemistry, and engineering as well as BAs in psychology and sociology, all obtained before he turned twenty. He was working on his BA in philosophy before he disappeared. Oh my… He applied to the academy, as in the FBI academy, and was given special permission to join the bureau before he turned twenty-two,” she supplied, and Morgan looked upon Spencer in a new light. This beautiful creature was a genius if ever one existed, and he wanted to be an agent. With his intelligence, that certainly wouldn’t be difficult, although he wondered how he planned on passing the physical aspects of training. Perhaps he would be passed for that as well, simply because he had so much to offer. He caught sight of a lone feather on the ground, probably fallen from Spencer’s resistance towards the staff. With tentative fingers, he picked it up.

“Doctor Spencer Reid,” Morgan repeated quietly, thoughtfully, holding the plume by the stem and letting his eyes take in the sheer beauty of just one of Spencer’s feathers. It was like touching a piece of an angel, and when his eyes rose to see Spencer once more, he realized that could be the only explanation.

Oh, how he longed to see that angel fly again.


	2. Beauty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I had absolutely no intentions of continuing this, but with the responses I've received asking for more, I couldn't resist. Here is the second chapter of Muted Blue!

_To go in the dark with a light is to know the light._   
_To know the dark, go dark. Go without sight,_   
_and find that the dark, too, blooms and sings,_   
_and is traveled by dark feet and dark wings._

-Wendell Berry

* * *

When Spencer woke up next, it was like all traces of memory had disappeared from him, yet the moment he opened his eyes, it all came flooding back in, overwhelming him in a sea of emotions, visions, and events. He felt the waves overtake him as he gazed up at the hospital ceiling, the steady beeping of his heart monitor nearby while the butterfly needle pricked into the back of his hand began to throb. His tongue darted out to swipe over his dry, cracked lips, and as he pushed himself up, a whimper hummed in his throat with the pain that overtook his body.

He hadn’t realized how sore he was, and the constant discomfort in his backside served as a reminder of his treatment the night before; before Derek Morgan and the FBI came to save him. He would have liked to believe that from that moment on, his life would only get better, but he was beginning to doubt himself, something that he was far too good at doing.

He looked around his hospital room with blurry vision, rubbing his knuckles over his eyes as he yawned and stretched his limbs out, wings included. He was careful not to knock over anything, but having room to actually open them to his full twelve foot wingspan was really nice. The gentle cracks of his bones was relieving. He had been passed through trafficking rings for nearly eighteen months, and his last six months had been spent in that tiny cramped cell. Every day, he dreamed of getting out of there and returning to his normal life and all of the opportunities that awaited him. But now that his dream had become reality, he didn’t know what he was going to do with himself. His life would had been snuffed out from under him, and he felt both lost and confused. A young avian like himself already had trouble getting by in the world, and all of the progress he had made before this happened to him had been wiped away. He was starting all over again, and the sudden realization hit him in a burst of emotions; he had _nothing_.

He wiped at his tears desperately, but they continued to fall despite his efforts to make them stop. He was helpless, and he had never felt more infantile in all his life. He had practically raised himself from the age of ten and on, as well as cared for his partially incapable mother. Speaking of his mother… She probably had no idea what had happened to him. He sent her letters every day, but when they stopped coming, he wondered if she even realized. She had been declining quite rapidly, and her schizophrenia wasn’t complying with the cocktail of medications she was taking. At the age of eighteen, several months after he had her committed to Bennington Sanitarium in Las Vegas, he went to visit her, but the brief flash of confusion on her face was enough for him to know; she didn’t recognize him. It had sparked within him a fear of losing the only real family he had, and for once, it was completely out of his control.

The sound of the door opening caught his attention, and he scrubbed at his eyes and cheeks again to rid his face of any tears. It was Derek, and as comforting as it was to see him again, he felt so weak and helpless in his presence. He did his best to smile though, and the way Morgan faltered was a clear sign that he had not been expecting that sort of greeting. But he didn’t let it effect the smile on his own face — Spencer hadn’t realized how gorgeous Derek was the night before because at the time it had been such a minuscule detail, but now, it was hard _not_ to notice. He was incredibly handsome, almost inhumanly, and Spencer briefly wondered if Derek was a different species all of his own.

“Good morning, Pretty Boy,” he said, approaching the side of his bed with careful steps, and Spencer felt his face heat up at the nickname. That was another thing he didn’t focus too much on last night, but now that he was thinking more clearly and wasn’t constantly fearing for his life, he felt a little flustered to be called such a name, especially by the likes of Morgan.

“Good morning,” he offered in response, shyly, pushing his messy curls out of his face and trying to sit up more only to visibly wince as he gasped quietly, an ache building up in tailbone. Morgan’s eyes widened and he was quick to step in, a strong arm wrapping around his back, just under the sprout of his wings while the other reached for Spencer’s hand to assist him in sitting up all the way without inflicting anymore pain than was necessary.

“Are you alright? What hurts?” Derek asked worriedly, scanning Spencer’s pretty face for anymore signs of discomfort, and Spencer forced an uncomfortable smile on his face as he tried his best to ignore the awakening pain receptors in his body.

“I-I’m fine,” he tried to assure Morgan, but that clearly wasn’t working, not with the sharp look he got in response.

“Spencer,” Derek said, his tone clearly not meant to be taken lightly, “Come on, man.”

Spencer winced again, not from pain this time, and he just looked away in embarrassment, shame, and even a mix of fear. Not of Derek, but simply talking about what had been done to him… He didn’t want to relive those moments.

“I um…” he swallowed hesitantly, his slender hand squeezing Derek’s larger one simply to remind himself that Morgan really was there and wasn’t just a figment of his imagination — he hadn’t gone insane, thankfully. “It’s not a big deal, really… You get used to it after the first time.”

That left Morgan with a quizzical expression on his face, and the arm wrapped around Spencer’s back gently began to stroke his bicep, not in an awkward way at all. In fact, all of the contact that the two of them had with one another was so natural and organic, like it was meant to happen. He didn’t to scare Spencer more, but he needed more from him to be able to make sense of what he was saying. He knew that most human trafficking was for sexual purposes, and there was no doubt that avian trafficking was the same. After all, the three initial victims had all shown signs of abuse, both physical and sexual, and they all admitted that they had been raped at least once. Spencer would be no different, but the most important part of healing was to accept that it happened. He couldn’t let Reid deny it or ignore it for the rest of his life, because the constant pain that came with burying such a tragedy was inescapable. Morgan knew that all too well.

“What does that mean, Spencer?” Derek asked him gently, his arm pulling back but not without rubbing the avian’s bare back below his wings. The hospital had provided him with a gown, but as was typical of hospital gowns, it was open in the back — which was also good for avian’s, since they had to wear specially modified clothing anyway. Spencer’s wings werecurled close, dropped on the bed behind him in sad clumps of clipped and unpruned feathers. Spencer looked up at him with wide eyes, not expecting to be questioned anymore, and an apprehension built upon his internal conflict crossed his face.

“It means exactly what you think it means,” he countered in a quiet voice, not in a rude fashion, but rather in a way that expressed how matter-of-fact he was. The way he looked at Derek with those pretty golden eyes was enough of a confirmation for him, and Derek closed his eyes as he exhaled slowly, mainly just to keep his cool. It was incredibly difficult to accept that something like this had happened to a boy as precious as Reid, and an anger boiled in his body like molten lava. He needed to stay calm though, because the last thing he wanted to do was scare Spencer; or worse, remind him of the bastards who did this to him.

“You’re so strong, Pretty Boy,” Derek said, holding his hands now and making sure that Spencer kept his eyes locked onto him. He didn’t want to lose him at a time as crucial as this, and although with most victims, a cognitive interview would be used to possibly identify the assailant, Spencer had been abducted so long ago that he doubted his memory was clear. Even so, he was still raw with emotions, and in the case of such tragic events, it was not difficult for false memories to form. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t at least ask him some questions. Who knew, they might be able to learn something through a man as brilliant as Spencer Reid. “I need to ask you some questions. They might be difficult for you to answer, and if at any time you wish to stop, we will. Is that okay with you?”

Spencer looked worried, but he did a cute little purse with his lips and slowly nodded, sniffling a bit while his wings shuffled a bit behind him, moving closer to his sides as if it were some sort of safety mechanism. It seemed to be, and Morgan remembered how he had been curled up with his wings around him like a shield in the corner of that little cell.

“Okay… Do you know how long you were gone, Spencer?” Morgan asked, and Spencer’s eyes rose again before he nodded quickly.

“Eighteen months, twelve days, and fifty-four minutes,” he said confidently, and Derek was a little taken aback by how specific that answer was. He just wondered how Reid was able to track time so accurately, even though he had been without a clock for all eighteen months, twelve days, and fifty-four minutes. But he didn’t let that distract him — they were only just getting started, after all.

“Good… How many times were you moved? As in, were you… _owned_ by anyone?” The questions were beginning to get a little more sensitive now, and he could tell that Spencer hadn’t been expecting one like that considering the widening of his eyes was enough of a hint. Derek just squeezed his hands reassuringly, hoping to be some sort of safety net for the younger man.

“Um… Three times. Two different owners, The first man only for three months, and the second man for around nine months. The rest of it was in there,” he said, his eyes fluttering downwards again. He felt oddly at peace with himself, even though he knew that it was only because he was compartmentalizing everything that had happened. When he was ready to confront it all head on, he knew he would be in shambles. But he couldn’t do that right now. He had to answer all of Derek’s questions and be of as much help as possible.

“And how long were you in there?” Derek asked, although he was fairly certain he already knew the answer.

“Six months,” he answered without hesitation this time, his hands beginning to tremble in Derek’s. It was clear that the facade he had in place was slipping, and as hard as he tried to keep it here, even Morgan was able to recognize its unsteadiness. But he pushed forward, because the clearer Reid was, the more likely he was to receive clear answers.

“Do you know any of their names?” He asked, and Spencer’s breath hitched in his throat. He bit his bottom lip, gnawing on the tender flesh mercilessly as he shook his head, tossing his curls about haphazardly.

“No. No, I don’t,” he said, the tone in his voice changing into one that was just a bit higher in pitch than before. Derek sighed and squeezed those fragile hands once more, the fondness in his eyes never leaving. He hated to see Reid suffer, but they needed this information to help others who needed them. Spencer must understand that.

“Spencer,” he tried again, much more emotional now than he was before. “Come on, Pretty Boy, you’re safe here. You aren’t there anymore, and you’ll never be treated like that ever again. If I have to, I’ll stay in your life for the rest of eternity to prove that to you.” He usually wasn’t one to get intimate with victims, but Spencer was special, and he was the exception to his moral code. He had to be, otherwise Morgan would never be able to understand why the boy made his heart ache so badly.

Reid looked a bit puzzled at that statement, and he sniffled once again, but it wasn’t enough to keep the tears at bay. A few slid down his face, but neither he or Derek made a move to brush them away. It would only hurt him in the future, should he reject himself the need to cry. He needed this, and Derek would be there every step of the way. He looked up slowly, meeting Derek’s eyes again. His lips parted slowly, searching for words to say, and several moments later he found his voice and spoke again.

“The… The man who abducted me. He went by Gideon. That’s all I know,” Spencer murmured softly, and Morgan rubbed his thumbs over the backs of Spencer’s hands, across his delicate knuckles. Spencer frowned, watching the movements closely as if Derek had some ulterior motive to the kind action, even though he knew that thinking like that was ridiculous and irrational.

“That’s really good, Spencer. I promise you that the people who have done this to you will be caught. Justice _will_ be served,” Derek said, and the smile that curled Spencer’s lips up in response was worth it. He released one of Spencer’s hands in favor of raising his up to the boy’s face, cupping his cheek gently. The avian invited the gesture easily, turning his head to nuzzle further into the warm skin. Morgan felt a smile tug his own mouth upwards, and he brushed his thumb over the feathers growing along his cheekbone. He was too pretty, too angelic for his own good; that probably only made him an even bigger target for traffickers.

“Thank you, Derek. For everything,” he murmured softly in response, his own hand raising to rest over top of Morgan’s.

“This is probably going to be the hardest question of all, but it’s going to be the last,” Morgan started, hating the way that smile slowly turned into a frown on Spencer’s face. Their hands lowered down to the other’s lap slowly, and the avian’s grip got a bit tighter when he asked his final question:

“What did they do to you?” He asked softly, and the tears sprung to his eyes effortlessly, dripping down his cheeks as his lids slowly fluttered downwards. He had been expecting it, it only made sense for it to be asked, because how else were they going to possibly identify the men who did this to him? They needed to know as much as they could about these men, and their M.O.’s were crucial in the profile — Spencer wanted to be an agent, after all.

“What _didn’t_ they do?” He countered in a mere whisper, his eyes opening again while tears continued to fall. But he did not whimper, did not sob, and kept his face cold and distant, since reliving the memories would simply be too difficult for him. He didn’t bother wiping them away either because his efforts would be fruitless. A shaky sigh passed his lips before he continued on.

“The beatings were fine… I’ve always been weak, but I could handle that,” he said, his hands grasping onto Morgan’s so tightly that they were trembling. But Derek didn’t let any bit of discomfort show on his face. Besides, the little avian was too weak for it to really be that painful. It definitely didn’t feel great, but he could deal with this much if in return, Spencer would tell him what true suffering was.

“It was usually with their hands… Sometimes objects or tools, but I think they got more pleasure from their fists,” he said, lowering his eyes since he could not look at Morgan for the next part.

“They would rape me… It was always painful at first, for the first few minutes until I could disassociate. I could zone out most of the time, enter into my headspace and think of something else like the Collatz Conjecture or theoretical physics, you know?” He said, a dry, humorless chuckle bubbling its way past his lips.

“They would call me angel,” he started, his eyes raising but looking far past Morgan and into the space around them, his jaw set and his lips pulled into a thin line while a fresh set of tears slipped down his cheeks like the gentlest of rain, “touch my wings and pluck my feathers… They would praise me for being so beautiful and clip my wings in the same breath. I tried to keep them pruned, I really did, but they wouldn’t ever let me keep them clean and maintained… I can do that here, right? I can take care of my wings?…”

It was always difficult listening to victim’s speak of what they went through, and Morgan stifled the burning rage within him when Spencer relayed what he had gone through. He couldn’t explode in a fit of anger, else he feared he would scare the skittish avian and give him no one to trust. Instead, he smiled a tight lipped smile, squeezed those slender hands once more, and met Spencer’s pretty golden eyes.

“Of course you can. You don’t have to ask for permission anymore,” he said, and Spencer smiled slightly again, sniffling and retracting one of his hands to finally wipe his wet cheeks. Thank god, because Morgan had felt the overwhelming need to do it himself through the entirety of Spencer’s response.

“You must be tired. Why don’t you lie back down and get some rest, hm?” Derek suggested, and Spencer suddenly looked a bit worried, his brows furrowing inwards and a pout taking residence on his pretty face.

“Are you going to leave me. Derek?” He asked nervously, and Morgan instantly shook his head, squeezing the one hand that still laid in his own.

“Of course not. I’ll be right here when you wake up.” That was all of the reassurance that Spencer needed, because he slowly laid back down on his bed, his wings tucking close on either side of him. He smiled softly at Derek, those eyes already half lidded as the exhaustion overcame him. Derek settled down beside him, and within five minutes, Spencer was fast asleep, his head turned towards him. He could barely find it in himself to look away from the beautiful avian; he was absolutely perfect, and despite Spencer saying that those who hurt him, _owned_ him, called him an angel, he couldn’t think of a better word. In fact, the word ‘angel’ was now reserved especially for Spencer in his mind, and he could never hear it again without thinking of the precious boy. He wished to hide Spencer away from the rest of the merciless world, keep him warm when he was cold, calm him when he was upset, love him when he needed love… It seemed like such a natural instinct for Morgan to crave intimacy with the boy, despite the fact that they had just met and certainly not in the best of circumstances. He shouldn’t be thinking like this, not of a victim of human trafficking anyway. But the way those full lips were parted just like so for gentle breaths, the way his brow relaxed, the gentle curl of long, dark lashes against feathered cheeks…

Derek sighed deeply, running his hands over his shaved head and gazing up into the ceiling tiles above him as if they held the answer to his question.

What had he gotten himself into?


	3. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! This is most likely going to be it for Muted Blue, although if I get enough requests, I may turn it into a series. 
> 
> Another quick update on me -- My mother and I have tested positive for COVID-19. We are fine, thankfully, but my anxiety is through the roof right now. I hope that this chapter was plentiful and a sufficient ending for this story, and as always, I appreciate your support!

_and i was  
never sure  
whether you  
were my  
home  
or just a stop  
along the way_

-Christiane Starl

* * *

After a day and a half in the hospital, Spencer was deemed ready to go home — wherever that was. Throughout those days, Spencer had told them more about the operation, but it wasn’t nearly enough to help them deduce any new conclusions or even reveal anything they didn’t already know. Reid sat through a cognitive with Prentiss in an attempt to recall details from the day he had been abducted, but halfway through, they had to stop and Spencer cried for Morgan to come back, which he did without any hesitation. Prentiss hadn’t been able to gather much from it, and they honestly hadn’t expected much anyway since it had been over a year ago when he was first abducted.

Reid was scared though; how was he going to live on his own again? Everything had been taken away from him, and he had absolutely nothing. His apartment had been cleared out, all of his belongings gone, and he almost certainly couldn’t go back to work right away. He had only been a teacher’s assistant, but it was just a stepping stone on the way to his true calling; an FBI agent, specifically within the BAU which he was guaranteed a spot if he passed the academy — which he had no doubt he would, considering so many requirements had either been waived of dismissed. But that dream was long gone now. Maybe in another life, he would have that opportunity.

He currently sat on the edge of the hospital bed, dressed in a pair of gray slacks and a purple button-up shirt that JJ had supplied him, a pair of converse on his feet. It was so utterly _him_ and he wondered how she had managed to provide him with such fitting clothing. It was his style, something he wore almost everyday, and now that he thought about it, she probably picked up on his wardrobe choices through pictures of him, before all of this. The shirt was clearly not one made for avians though, since two slightly small slits had been cut into the back of it. It was a little tight around his scapulars, but it would do for now at least. He was alone right now; Morgan had left the room to meet up with his team, and now that Spencer was thinking more clearly, he knew he couldn’t rely so heavily on Derek. Derek was an FBI agent, and as much as he wanted to cling to him, he simply couldn’t. It wasn’t anything personal between he and Derek Morgan, as much as he wanted it to be. Derek was simply doing a job, and Spencer happened to be the unfortunate victim.

“Hey, are you ready, Kid?” He heard Derek’s voice filter through the room from the partially opened door, and he looked up with a small smile, both nervous and confused.

“For what?...” He questioned, rising to his feet. Derek didn’t realize it before, but Spencer was about the same height as him, although their body types couldn’t be more difficult. He was large and muscular, often spending most of his free time working out or running. But Spencer was delicate like an orchid, requiring specific care needed for him to flourish. He was tall as stated, willowy and slender. God, he was so gorgeous… He had been beautiful before, but after just a day of recovery, he was already radiating a warm glow of pretty youthfulness.

“To leave,” Derek said with a little chuckle, watching as those wings seemed to be a telltale sign of his emotions. That had cocked slightly, the right a bit more than the left, when he questioned Morgan, and now, they had lifted up, just slightly, as if to demonstrate a rise of joy within him. Well, the brightening smile on his face could also be a bit of a sign too…

“Where am I going?” He asked, following along with Derek as he guided him out of the hospital room, not missing the subtle brush of Derek’s large hand against the small of his back. In the hospital, he made sure to keep his wings tucked close to his back to avoid hitting something or someone — it was simply a natural reaction for avians to do as such in social situations, more as a common courtesy to others since their wings were more powerful than most realized. Speaking of Spencer’s wings… They already looked a bit healthier too, although it was mainly because of Reid’s nearly two hour long pruning session the night before. Morgan had watched him with utmost fascination as his slender fingers dipped into his feathers, effortlessly plucking those that didn’t belong and fussing up the ruffle of his plumes. It was quite cute, honestly, and he would never forget the satisfied hum that passed Spencer’s pretty lips when he felt more comfortable with himself.

“Home. Well, not _your_ home. My home. Until we’re able get you settled somewhere on your own,” Derek said with a slight shrug of his shoulders. Spencer looked somewhat taken aback, but he didn’t have the chance to respond before he was surrounded by Morgan’s team, those he now recognized as the famous David Rossi, unit chief Aaron Hotchner, SSA Emily Prentiss, police and media liaison Jennifer “JJ” Jareau, and technical analyst Penelope Garcia. They instantly looked to him with smiles on their faces, and he blushed both out of embarrassment and the excessive attention he was getting — good attention, anyway.

“Hey, Spence, are you ready to go home?” JJ asked him kindly, obviously taking a liking to the boy even if they were right around the same age. She had grown to be quite protective of Spencer, possibly just as much as Morgan, but it was clear that Spencer depended on Morgan a bit more simply because he was his savior. Spencer looked a bit anxious, but he quickly bobbed his head in a nod since he was in fact ready to live in a house again.

“Y-Yes,” he answered quietly, a thin-lipped smile on his lips. He relished in the feel of Morgan’s hand on his back, but when he went away, he suddenly felt alone again and looked towards him with a muted expression of confusion and hurt. But Morgan didn’t seem to realize, since he was now talking with the plump blonde woman, or Penelope Garcia, as she had introduced herself. They seemed to be flirting, talking in cutesy riddles and nudging each other, and Spencer realized that they must be a couple. Their body language suggested as such, and the near permanent smiles on their faces did too. He sighed softly, feeling a sense of loneliness that he hadn’t realized was there before now. He didn’t understand where the sudden disappointment came from, but perhaps he was in too deep with Derek already.

The psychologically sound part of his mind tried to reason with him by reminding him that this was just a defense mechanism because of everything he had been through. Freud’s theories on homosexuality to gender to human development had been discredited, but his theory on defense mechanisms was sound, and they had been expanded by greater psychological minds like Adler and Jung. This was reaction formation — it had to be. He had been so utterly devastated, defeated, torn apart by the very fibers of his being, yet he was converting that trauma into infatuation with Derek Morgan, simply because he was the figure he associated with his freedom. No matter how desperately he tried to convince himself of that though, it would never reach him thoroughly. It was already too late, and he already craved that sense of dependency he had towards Morgan.

In the mid evening, they arrived at the man’s house, a single story cottage with a cute mahogany porch and a burnt orange door. It was nice, cozy, and when he stepped foot inside, he had nearly forgotten how comforting a home could be. It wasn’t his own of course, but the touches of familiarity and belonging were hard to miss. Traces of Derek were spread all throughout the home; from the diet regimen and workout calendar on the front of his fridge to the dark blue comforter neatly spread over his king size bed. He had been given a tour of the house, happy to know that the guest bedroom made up for him was right across from Derek’s room. It would luckily him a greater sense of safety, although he still feared his inability to sleep.

“I hope you find it comfortable. If you need or want anything at all that will make you more happy here, please let me know,” Derek said, standing in the doorway of the guest room as Spencer slowly wandered inside, his wings drooping a bit as he spread his hands over the bed, letting himself sink down into the mattress. He felt tears burn in his eyes, since he couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so comfortable — well, he could. But he rather not

“It’s so soft,” he nearly sobbed, pressing his feathered cheeks into the comforter. He heard a soft hum behind him, and he lifted his head just in time to see Derek sit himself down at the foot of the bed, his upper body turned so that he could see Spencer. The avian looked up with wide, watery eyes, and he smiled. Derek swore his entire world stopped in that moment, when he saw such a beautiful sight that had been vacant from Spencer for far too long. If he had his way. He would make sure Spencer never hesitated to smile again.

“I’m glad you like it,” he said softly, and he watched with somewhat disbelieving eyes as Spencer’s wings extended outwards, the one draping itself over Derek’s lap. Spencer kept their eyes connected, that small smile never leaving his face. This was an act of confiding, of complete and total trust that Derek had not been expecting, but he certainly wasn’t going to take that for granted. So, to accept that offer of trust, Derek’s hand ran over the speckled primary feathers, and now that he was close enough to appreciate his wings, he could definitely see the resemblance Spencer had to a barn owl. The auburn feathers splashed with rustier browns and snowy whites were incredible, and over the crest of them, he swore they almost shined blue. Those sweet chocolate brown eyes held an infinite amount of majesty and the drew Derek in and then slowly let him go, although he wasn’t sure if he wanted to go. Avians were such magnificent creatures, and to this day, Derek would never be able to understand how they had been treated so miserably over the years. Spencer didn’t deserve that — no one did, regardless of species.

“In captivity,” Spencer started softly, sitting up slowly and crossing his legs, his wings coming up and around their bodies like a shield that encapsulated them from the rest of the world until they were alone together, “I remember thinking ‘I wonder if I’ll ever see the outside world again.’”

“Spencer…” Morgan said, almost as if it were a warning. He didn’t want the boy to push himself, but Spencer shook his head, determined to get this out.

“Whenever they would hurt me, or forced themselves on me, I would think of the last time I saw the moonlight and how utterly complete I felt flying beneath it. I want to do that again, Morgan. I want you to be there with me when I gain the strength and courage to fly again,” Spencer said in a near whisper, and Derek couldn’t resist the urge to touch him just once more. His hand cradled that face like it were the most precious thing in the world, and Spencer didn’t seem to doubt that either.

“Whenever you’re ready, I’ll be there with you every step of the way, Angel.”

Derek gave Spencer something no one had before. He gave him peace, like a calming flight under the moon and stars, even though he would never be whole again. Derek found him in the midst of a storm, and he drug him out and promised to stand him upright again. The world had not stopped for him, but Derek had, and that was all he needed.

And Derek would forever see him as an angel, soaring beneath skies of muted blue.


End file.
